The King of Hearts
by tonylikesyou
Summary: "You wonder to yourself who exactly is The King of Hearts. You know nothing about him and yet here you are staring at him through a clear glass wall in the maximum security prison. His eyes shone bright from the lights that were seemingly blinding him, and you can't help but feel unsatisfied. You've won... Haven't you?" DirkJake AU in which Dirk is a convict and Jake is a policeman


You don't know exactly why but as you gripped the leather steering wheel and as your foot pressed down on the acceleration pedal, you felt that same surge of intensity you've been missing and the nostalgia sets in. Before you know it, you are taken back to when you were a rookie, just starting out as an observer with the elder policemen- "the vets", they called them- sitting in the passenger seat, watching the other civilians in their cars pull aside or slow down to let you guys, the ones with that familiar red and blue alternating lights and that recognizable siren wailing into the air, pass so you can help ensure justice and order into this troublesome world. That one reminiscent moment is forever lodged in your head as one of the most extreme memories as a soon-to-be policeman but now that you are older and, arguably wiser, you realize that not much excitement can happen in a town this large. Shockingly enough, the only thrilling thing is probably when you have to catch a mediocre thief in one of those exceedingly clichéd high-speed chases that end up on the six o'clock news reel for a few minutes.

As said before, you are older and the years passed while you expected nothing more than what was given to you. Simple enough, right? But then suddenly, when you get a call hinting on some convict man on a motorcycle that escaped from jail and is planning on robbing banks and whatever else he could get his hands on; you're thinking this is one of those morons that doesn't know anything about anything.

You're wrong.

You've been hunting down this guy for a year now and he's swift, intelligent and, though you hate to admit it, mysterious. You have yet to see his face and all you ever catch is glimpses of blonde hair escaping from the suffocation that the black helmet caused. You've been frustrated and the only time you've ever come near him was on an interstate which was under construction over a body of water. You got out of your car, gun in hand, yelling "Freeze!" And "Put your hands in the air!" The man in front of you gets off his bike, faces you, holds up his hand in a gun motion and as he flicks his wrists making it seem that his "gun" shot you, he falls backwards into the water casually.

You had taken his bike into custody but he had managed to take it back on some night, knocking out the guards and the security cameras. This was the time you noticed that this guy was not like the rest and you'd have a full plate for the next few months. Or so you thought.

You only thought it would be the next few months because, no bragging intended, you are great at what you do and have received a myriad of praise and medals. Yet here you are on another chase of this mastermind, dubbed The King of Hearts by other policemen for ironic purposes considering he's the farthest thing from a sophisticated, pleasant man, and it's been a year. A whole bloody year of focusing everything on this one guy. Everyone on your team knows about your unhealthy obsession with this but you have been told, by your grandmother and half-sister mostly, that your determination is frightening and will most likely be your demise one day. They are probably right. Once you begin something you tend to not get distracted until you are finished with it. You aren't sure whether this is a virtue or a vice.

This case, however, of The King of Hearts is on a different level entirely. This guy is slippery and every time you're just about close enough to get your hands on him, he manages to escape. It's quite irritating because even when people tell you that The King of Hearts knows what he's doing and he's so obviously provoking you, it gets you more intent on catching him.

You hit the brakes almost instantly as you see the motorcycle come to a stop at a dead end road. You keep the sirens and lights on and speak through the intercom installed in the car.

You tell him to step aside from the bike; he complies. He acts like he usually does so you immediately think it's one of his senseless, for you at least, plans to get away. He takes off his helmet, grabs something from his bag, sunglasses it seems, and puts them on his face. You were right about his blonde tresses and light complexion. He turned towards you as you decided to up the ante and get out of the car, having your gun close to reach. He smiles, a really genuine and regular smile that you'd see your neighbor or a friend make, and yells for you to turn off the siren. You are taken back considering this is the first time you have heard his voice. You yell back inquiring why, but he simply repeats his request and as much as the little voice inside your head tells you not to comply, your hand reaches over to turn it off.

The silence is much louder than the screams of the alarm. You leave the lights on, they illuminate the evening sky and make the scene look as if it came straight out of a movie. You yell at him, inquiring what he wants.

His smile disappears into a cocky smirk and that makes the hair on the back of your neck rise and your spine straightens itself up. Your gun stays in close range because you may have been after him for more than 12 months but you still have no idea what this guy is capable of. He runs a hand through his hair and after a few minutes of quiet, he breaks the stillness with his voice.

"I give up. You win, man."

Your heart freezes and if that doesn't make you even more anxious than earlier, you're not sure what will. That is, until he puts his arms up, in surrender and as if mocking you he pulls out a white handkerchief and waves it around. Your tongue is tied, sweat is building up on your brow and adrenaline courses through your veins.

You don't believe him for a second.

You ask him why. He scoffs and shakes his head, asking when you are going to 'cuff him. You are in complete disbelief and you're not sure what to do. In all these years of chasing him, you finally have a chance to actually _catch_ him. You have him in the palms of your hands, at your fingertips and yet here you are, standing like an immobile fool. 'Get your act together, Jake.' You say to yourself until finally, before you even know it, he walks forward and stands in front of you.

He's taller up close and it's not as if you have to bend your neck to see him but you do have to move your eyes up a bit to stare at him through the darkened pointed shades he adorns. He asks how you want to do this. You gulp, hoping to God he didn't notice, and tell him to turn around. With sturdy hands you grab the handcuffs and as you tell him his Miranda Rights you lock them onto his wrists. His hands are large and his muscles seem tense. You grab him and pull him to the back of your car, stuffing him in the back.

You bring up your walkie-talkie and tell your partners that you have him. You've caught The King of Hearts.


End file.
